


My Hereness, Your Thereness (The Fractured Reflection Remix)

by Daegaer



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Dreams, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Nightmares, Psychic Abilities, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-19
Updated: 2006-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By day Nagi watches Mamoru sleep. By night he is watched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Hereness, Your Thereness (The Fractured Reflection Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Hereness, Your Thereness](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/8598) by Penelope Z. 



> Written for Remix Redux 2006. Thank you Louise Lux for beta reading!

He can't sleep any more. He closes his eyes and girls with caved-in skulls, friends he left to die and old enemies who never knew his name surround him. He wishes they'd cry, or talk to him or try to kill him, but they never do. They just look at him silently, making his sleep as empty and joyless as his waking hours.

Mamoru has stolen his sleep, he thinks. The moment they are left alone, Mamoru will put his head down on his desk and the lines of tension on his face will ease. Afternoon after afternoon, Nagi answers calls, not bothering to be polite.

"He's busy."

"He can't see you now."

"I said _no_ , Rex."

He knows they think he has some unmentionable influence over Mamoru. He's sure they think he's Mamoru's lover but he doesn't care. He's content to sit quietly and guard Mamoru in peace. He just likes to see someone sleeping, that's all. He has no influence past his professional capacity, and Mamoru thinks he prefers girls. When he bothers to think about such things, Nagi thinks he prefers girls too, though the only girl he ever liked is dead. It would explain why he froze the night Mamoru had several beers too many and put his soft, manicured fingers where they had no business being while he tried to get his tongue into Nagi's mouth. He still remembers Mamoru's face going so white Nagi thought he'd faint, then scarlet as he backed away, too ashamed and drunk to mutter apologies. Nagi's used to being able to look people in the face when they've just made fools of themselves, but it was hard to see Mamoru's shame. He sighs and checks the time. The meeting's been delayed for over an hour while Mamoru sleeps on in the grip of nightmare. Nagi allows him his privacy - at least since the first time he spied on Mamoru's dreams. He has never so much as hinted that Schuldig wasn't Schwarz's only telepath. He doesn't want to see Mamoru's dead friends speak to him anyway. He busies himself with waking matters, fills a glass of water and stands by the desk, ready.

"Time to wake up."

 

*

 

They're not any closer, they never are. Nagi's never been afraid of the dead, but he's stung to find they can hurt him simply by not living. Tot looks at him with huge, sombre eyes, the front of her stupid outfit stained with blood. Hell is covered in plaster dust, one whole side of her head flattened and horrible. Crawford and Schuldig are behind him, he knows. He can feel them, though he doesn't look. They all just watch him, part of a growing crowd. The mole he killed last week before Mamoru even knew there was a danger stands at the front of them all and stares, his eyes empty and his hands pressed protectively against the rib cage Nagi pulverised.

They're just dead. They don't exist. They never come closer, never do anything but stare. One of these nights he's going to turn around and see what's behind him. None of this means a damn thing.

He just wishes Tot at least had her stupid rabbit.

With a groan, Nagi sits up in bed, and reaches towards his desk. The caffeine tablets fly to his hand.

 

*

 

Kritiker has found Balinese - amnesiac, married, a father. Nagi watches Mamoru's face as he sifts through the photos, his fingers tracing over the image of the child on Balinese's lap. He wants his friend back. Everyone in the room can see it. He is furiously jealous that Balinese has forgotten what he's lost and in doing so has found something better. _Nagi_ can see _that_.

"His amnesia is reversible, Sir."

Mamoru's fingers still and an ugly hope shines in his eyes.

"The family obstacles can be easily removed."

Nagi sees the colour begin to drain from his face.

"Without his knowledge of the perpetrators of course."

One of them looks smugly at Nagi. _Your monster can do it_ , the gaze says. The thought behind it is less complimentary.

"It would be an additional motivation, to trigger his return. According to the history of his psychological profile--"

Mamoru raises his chin, his face cold and distant, then closes his eyes, breathing hard. If he speaks he will order Nagi to rip these fools limb from limb and Nagi will do it because the agent is right. He is a pet monster, let slip from the leash for very specific tasks. He is very tired of it all.

"You had better go," he says, quiet and calm, the way he does his most successful killing. All the threat he knows how to project is clear and sharp in his voice, for those who know how to listen.

They look between him and Mamoru and are out the door with barely enough time to pick up their briefcases.

Nagi looks at Mamoru as he opens his eyes, his face full of anger and fear. He still wants his friend back, and he hates Nagi right now. That's nothing Nagi hasn't felt from most people, and he looks back with indifferent calm. Right now Mamoru hates him because he thinks Nagi hasn't lost anything. He thinks Nagi still has friends, that he is the only person so finally and irrevocably alone. He drags his bitter gaze back to the photos, gathering them up with shaking hands. Nagi wonders what it's like to be rested enough to feel so strongly. He reaches out and trails a single finger down Mamoru's hand, from the thin wrist dwarfed by the cuff of the business suit to the too prominent knuckles. Mamoru looks at the trail Nagi's finger has taken as if he feels fire running through his hand.

His eyes when he looks up are empty of hate and no longer dead.

 

*

 

Nagi stands in the centre of the circle, the point on which the dead's attention rests. He would like to tell them to go, to accept that there are some things that cannot be changed, but he cannot speak here, any more than they.

Tot steps forward, something she has never done. Her toy rabbit is clutched tight in her arms, the blood from her wound seeping into it. As Nagi raises a hand towards her in surprise she turns her back on him. All the dead whose names he knows turn their faces away, emptiness filling with scorn. He turns about to see what is behind him.

Crawford's face and clothes are drenched with blood, his hair matted down and sticky. Schuldig is a thing of horror, most of his hair gone and half his face cooked, the mouth drawn up in a rictus of agony. They look at him silently, as all the dead always do, then Crawford pulls off his broken glasses and wipes them, a habit Nagi remembers as a way of distracting himself from emotion. He turns away, Schuldig laying a blackened arm across his shoulders, the flesh flaking off down to the bone. He glares at Nagi, one eye turned opaque from the force of the fire, and leans in close to Crawford.

Nagi cannot hear what they say. When they turn to leave he takes hesitant steps after them, and stops at their looks of disgust. When he turns back again, even the strangers are gone.

He lies awake the rest of the night, wishing for Mamoru's dreams.


End file.
